


In a New York Minute

by SteveRogerThat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Missing Scene, Reader-Insert, Romance, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteveRogerThat/pseuds/SteveRogerThat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Update* Epilogue Part 1 of 2 now included</p>
<p>Inspired by the following line from CATWS: “It was not my first kiss since 1945.  I’m 95; I’m not dead.”</p>
<p>Excerpt from work:</p>
<p>“Fuck,” you say, this time much louder as you lean against the bar.    </p>
<p>He turns around and you immediately feel yourself blush a shade of deep crimson. He is tall.  He is broad-shouldered.  He has the jawline of a Kennedy and eyes so crisply blue they could cut glass.  In a nanosecond, your brain processes that he is fucking hot, and you are an embarrassing asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rated: PG-13, adult language present. Sex is implied.  
Time Period: Post-Avengers and Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier  
Length: Part 1 of...*shrugs*  


“If you’re not going to pick up your goddamn phone, at least text me back,” you mutter under your breath. Not that it matters anyway. Amidst the pulsing music, you could scream it, and no one would bat an eye. 

You look at your watch. 12:50. Just glancing at the time forces you to stifle back a yawn and suddenly, you are very aware of how crowded your toes feel in your pair of way-too-high heels and how great it’s going to feel once you kick those damn shoes off as soon as you walk through the door. 

You work your way through the crowded room looking for your friend’s familiar brown curls among the sea of bobbing people. Nada. “Fuck,” you say, this time much louder as you lean against the bar. 

He turns around and you immediately feel yourself blush a shade of deep crimson. He is tall. He is broad-shouldered. He has the jawline of a Kennedy and eyes so crisply blue they could cut glass. In a nanosecond, your brain processes that he is fucking hot, and you are an embarrassing asshole. 

“I’m sorry, I’m offensive and awful,” you blurt out. Self-deprecation is your forte.

To your surprise, a little half smirk forms across his face, and your heart rate ever so slightly picks up. “No, it’s okay,” he replies with a chuckle. “Everything alright?” 

Well, damn, now that you’re here…Stop it, don’t say that you jackass. Think of something funny and clever and sexy. 

“I came here with a friend, she met a guy, and I managed to lose her. And now all I want is to go home. Maybe change into some yoga pants and eat an inappropriate amount of Tostitos.” Uhhhh, that is not funny or clever or sexy. You suck at this. Like, a lot. 

You tuck your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and try your best to look up at him without full-on staring at his Adonis-like face. “Sorry, now that I say that aloud, my situation doesn’t really seem to warrant a ‘fuck,’ does it? I mean, saying ‘fuck,’ not like wanting to…,” you clear your increasingly dry throat, “um, do that with you. Or to you.” The ground needs to open up and swallow me whole right about now. 

He laughs, this time, a real laugh, and whether it is because of your awkwardness or that he genuinely finds you funny, you don’t care whatsoever. You. Made. Him. Laugh. He leans in closer to you and extends his hand. “I’m Steve.”

You say your name and shake his hand. He’s got a good handshake. But that does not surprise you in the least. 

You try your best to converse with each other, and you catch bits and pieces of the conversation. He’s originally from Brooklyn, and you could make out that he served in the military. You share about your job and your siblings, but you both find yourselves constantly saying “What?” or nodding along in agreement just to save face amidst the cacophony of voices and music. You are suddenly jolted out of this game when you feel his strong hand on the small of your back, and all you can focus on is the fact that his index finger and pinky are resting on the small patch of skin between your top and the waist of your jeans. He drops his head so his mouth is next to your ear, and (god, he smells great) whispers, “I know I’m 94, but do you want to go someplace quieter? We can check on your friend first.” 

“Yeah, sure, that sounds like a plan.” Did he just say he was 94? 

He grabs your hand and leads you through the maze of bodies, and that last thought evaporates into thin air. You are too focused on the feeling of his sturdy fingers entwined with yours and the way his back looks in that button-down to mull over his comment. Someone needs to tell this guy that they make extra-large shirts. But I’m not about to be the one to do that. 

“Cap!” 

You let go of his hand and take an instinctive step back as a man comes barreling towards you. He bypasses you then wraps a sinewy arm around Steve. Steve returns the gesture and flashes you that dangerous grin of his; he knows him, things are kosher. 

“This is Barton,” Steve starts. 

“Clint Barton,” the man interjects. You shake his hand tentatively, and the look of minor confusion must be apparent on your face. “Or Hawkeye, whatever you’d prefer.” 

It takes a moment, but then it hits you like a crack of lightning. Hawkeye. Cap. Steve. 94. 

“Holy shit, you’re an Avenger.” You look Clint up and down, the amusement clear on his face as he exchanges a look with Steve. You turn to stare at Steve, and you think your mouth is open, but you are too wrapped up in your thoughts to know for sure. “And YOU’RE an Avenger. Oh my god, you guys saved the city. Like, everyone in this room is alive because of you. Hell, everyone in the state of New York is alive because of you guys.” You are rambling and do not care. 

“When you meet a girl, do you not lead with that?” Clint asks, turning toward Steve. “Have you learned nothing?”

“It’s not something that comes up organically when you meet someone,” Steve demurs. 

You run your hands through your hair, thinking that doing this will maybe make this piece of information more digestible. How did you not see this before? No one this handsome exists in real life. Am I allowed to even fantasize about Captain America? That’s like wanting to fuck a majestic bald eagle—people get arrested for shit like that. 

“Listen, I didn’t mean to freak you out. But, this guy, Rogers, he is the definition of a good guy. If you’re going to hit on someone, this is the guy to hit on…” 

“You’re done,” Steve interrupts, clapping Clint on the back for good measure. You look at Clint and notice his glazed-over eyes. He is clearly drunk, and you make a mental note to work on your observational skills from this point forward. 

Steve turns back to you, and his face is sincere, thoughtful. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. If you want me to call you a cab, I understand. This is…a lot.” 

“No, I mean, yes, it's a lot. But…,” you pause, noticing Clint’s goofy smile as he eavesdrops, then lean in closer to Steve, so close you can see the faintest hint of stubble on his normally clean-shaven face, and any hesitation you had is suddenly quieted by a brilliant idea. “You’re cute, and now that I think about it, we’ve got something to do.” 

Steve looks at you, a hint of surprise darting around the corners of his eyes, and you can't help but smile. You both say your goodbyes to Clint, and you catch an unsubtle wink from the latter, which normally would seem douchey, but he seems to pull it off as endearing. 

You work your way towards the front door, this time, with you leading the way, and the cool, morning air feels refreshing as you step out onto the still-bustling sidewalk. You leave one more message for your friend, a voicemail, and you purposefully make it vague and cryptic. Recapping this evening would be much better in person when you met up for lunch later. 

“So, care to brief me on what we have to do?” Steve sidles up next to you, and you notice that when he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and it’s one of most adorable things you’ve seen in awhile. 

You tuck your phone into your purse and take a breath. “Yes. It’s not pervy or weird, even if it came off that way. So, now that I realize who you are,” you pause as Steve smiles and nods. “Anyway, I realize that there are some things you might need to catch up on, and I’d like to help you because, full disclosure, this is my last week in New York. And if I leave this city having passed up the opportunity to help Captain America…I don’t think that’s something I can live with.” 

You look at Steve and can tell by the slight tilt of his head that he’s a mix of intrigued and perplexed. And, maybe, is he a little disappointed to hear that you’re moving? No, stop it brain, fuck that noise. 

“Here,” you pull out your phone and open up the Notes app. “See, I keep a list on my phone of all the things I want to do. Not, like, work-related goals but personal goals…you know, visit Tibet, learn to make homemade pasta, that kind of stuff. But I also write down things I want to learn about, so I have molecular gastronomy, the life of Gloria Steinem…” 

Your voice trails off as you peer over at Steve whose eyes skim over the illuminated screen. His expression is serious and unreadable, and you feel self-conscious about sharing something so personal with a virtual stranger and momentarily sense this is a bad idea. 

“So, you’re proposing that we tackle some things on this list tonight?” he offers, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“No,” you shake your head for emphasis. “I’m proposing that you start a list, and we pick something off of your list to cross off. My list has been a work-in-progress for years. You’re the one who needs to catch up, Cap,” you tease, placing your hand on his forearm. 

Steve beams and nods his head in agreement. “I like it. I’m in. Where do we start?” 

“The Upper East Side and in an Uber,” you reply. “I’ll explain what that is on the way.” 

* * *  
“Now this might come as a surprise, but I know what a CVS is. Believe it or not, we had drug stores back in my day.” 

You arch your eyebrows in disbelief, which Steve pretends to ignore as he peruses the incredible selection of candy. All those glowing write-ups on Captain America, and his contributions to the modern world, and his work with the Avengers, and not once was it mentioned that Steve Rogers was a total smart ass. 

“Not why we’re here,” you say walking to the register. You pay for your items, and after you walk out of the store, Steve tries to take a peak inside the plastic bag. 

Before he can say anything, you reach into the bag and hand him a small memo pad and a Bic pen. “Alright, Gramps, CVS is all out of slabs of stone and chisels, but this should do.” You look at him to gauge his reaction, and he chortles. 

“I’m letting that one slide,” he replies as he uncaps the pen and start writing. 

As you listen to the faint scribble of pen on paper, an audible sigh escapes you as you step out of your stilettos and slide on the flip flops you just purchased. Much better. 

“What have you got?” You walk towards him, your feet aching now but out of sheer relief. It is only when you are next to him that you realize what an advantage your heels gave you. You might as well be a hobbit next to this god-like specimen. 

You read the first item on the list and can’t contain your excitement. “That is brilliant. Done.” You reach for your phone to make a call but stop when Steve gently grabs your arm. 

“Forget it, it’s not even open, that was just a starting point, something for me to do later…”

“No.” You brush his arm away and pull up the list of contacts in your phone. “This is important to you, and I can actually make this happen. And c’mon, let’s be honest: Captain America has to be and do a lot of things. When was the last time you did anything for yourself? That’s the first thing on your list for a reason.” 

You cradle the phone between your shoulder and your ear as it starts ringing. You nearly drop the phone and shatter the screen when you feel Steve’s hands give your shoulders a squeeze as he waits patiently behind you. These are hands that manage to be both slightly calloused and gentle at the same time. The neurons in your brain are rapid firing like your brain is a fireworks display, but the only thought you can muster is Fuckkkk. 

You hear a groggy but familiar voice pick up on the other end of the line. “Katie? It’s me. Sorry I’m calling so late. I have a huge favor to ask you. Do you think David could meet me at his work in, say, 20 minutes? I know, I know, hold on a sec…” 

You turn around to face Steve and cover the receiver with the palm of your hand. “I’m sincerely trying my best to convince you I’m not an asshole, but can I drop your name to make this happen?” 

He nods his head and you continue on with your negotiation, thanking Katie profusely once she relents to your request. As soon as you hang up the phone, you are so pumped that you are about to break out your dorky Snoopy dance, but it is only when you look at Steve, you stop yourself. He is giving you that look, and you are lost for a second in his crushingly blue eyes and the scent of his shirt, Tide tinged with a hint of sweat. You force yourself to look away only to notice that his hands are perfectly outlining the shape of your hips, and it takes every ounce of willpower for you to remember that the clock is counting down. You pull away and want to slap yourself for it. 

“We’ve got to go. 20 minutes isn’t a lot of time, and at…,” you look at your watch, “2 a.m., David won’t wait any longer than that. Even for you.” 

“Alright, well, I’m not the most up to date on how to navigate the Upper East Side. It’s changed a little since I’ve lived here,” he deadpans. 

You take a beat and mentally outline the fastest route to get there. Bars are starting to close, and calling an Uber or a cab would be insanely expensive. You could make it there in 15 minutes if you walked, but that would mean cutting through Central Park. 

“We can walk through the park as long as we hurry. It’s a little sketchy at night…” your voice trails off. It’s his turn to arch his eyebrows at you, and that half-smirk is back, revealing just a glimpse of his straight teeth. 

You immediately recognize your mistake and laugh nervously. “But, you’re Captain America, and you’ve killed intergalactic aliens like they were mosquitoes, so I think we can handle sketchy, right?” 

Steve holds out his arm for you, and wrapping yours through it, you start off down the sidewalk. The fifteen-minute walk goes by quickly as you pick up the conversation where you last left it. You talk about the city, your childhoods, he asks you more about your career, you argue about the best places to get a bagel, and it is all so effortless and easy. You can almost forget that this is Steve Rogers until you remember that your arm is looped through one that is three times its size and your hand is resting on his solid bicep. Nevertheless, it is amazing to you that of all the things he is, no one realizes or writes about him being funny. Or remarkably intelligent. As excited as you’ve been for this move, you regret taking that promotion for a moment, instead, thinking of what could possibly be. 

“Is this it?” Steve points to a sign in front of a large, white cylindrical building. 

You are drawn out of your reverie and immediately recognize the place with its iconic shape among the city’s skyscrapers. 

“Yep. Steve Rogers, let’s see what the Guggenheim is all about, shall we?” 

You see David near the front door, and you thank your lucky stars that your college roommate married the head of security. David, although bleary-eyed, shakes Steve’s hand eagerly and informs you both that you have exactly two hours. 

As you walk through the main entrance, you hear Steve take a small gasp as he lifts his head upward and takes in the looming skylight at the center of the museum. Moonlight streams through it and casts an ethereal glow on the paintings and statues. You feel like patting yourself on the back cause goddamnit, Captain America is impressed. 

“This is why we had to stop for flip flops,” you say, pointing to the winding ramp encircling the structure all the way to the top atrium. “Frank Lloyd Wright was a famous architect, and he designed this building to resemble a nautical shell.” 

You watch Steve as he does a 360-degree turn, and that rugged, classically handsome face that attracted you to him earlier this evening has melted into a loveable, puppy-like expression. You wipe your palms on the legs of your jeans and can’t help but consider how lethal this man is.  
“We have two hours. We’re seeing everything,” he announces, taking your hand. You both jog up the ramp and stop at the first painting you see. It’s huge, its canvas taking up nearly half of the wall. On it, a dozen or so multi-colored shapes pop with colors. 

“I’m going to be honest. I know nothing about art, so you’re going to have to walk me through it,” you confess, a bit ashamedly, while tucking your hands into your pockets. 

“That is one thing I can do. And I know this painting. It’s Kandinsky.” Steve grazes his fingers along the space between your neck and your jaw, and you can still feel them as he walks toward the painting. 

He launches into a mini-lecture on how the colors and textures create movement among objects as simple as a group of shapes. You listen intently because his overt enthusiasm is infectious, and he manages to take a complex concept and make it comprehensible, even for an art novice like yourself. 

You continue to walk from painting, to sculpture, to sketch. You point out the ones that you like and what you like about them, trying your best not to sound like an idiot. Steve, always one to be honest, nods when he agrees and dissents, albeit politely, when his opinion differs. You’ve always finagled your way out of dates that required trips to art museums, not because you don’t enjoy art, but you can’t stand the pretentious airs people put on when they talk about it. Yet, somehow, Steve never crosses that line, and his humility only makes you more curious about what his hair would feel like between your fingers. 

The time is going by quickly, and you are both aware that there are loads more exhibits left to see. You start to walk over to a metal sculpture, and before you can get very far, Steve grabs you by the elbow and pulls you back towards him. You stop yourself from colliding into Steve by bracing yourself against his chest, and oh god, it is a good chest. 

“Um,” you manage to take a quick breath, “we don’t have a lot of time…” You try to avoid looking into his eyes because you will be done for if do. 

“You’re right, we don’t.” Steve, his face now inches from yours, sweeps a strand of hair away from your face. “I’ve waited too long before, and I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice.” 

And before you can say anything more, he kisses you, and it is exactly like him—commanding but sweet, steady but adventurous, electrifying but earnest. You lean into him so there is little if any space between you. He is warm. He is sturdy. You move your hands up and over his shoulders, running your fingers through his thick, blondish hair, and your desire for this man is unparalleled. The kiss deepens, and what was once something soft and tender is now turning into a kiss that is alive, wanting. Steve’s hands move over your shoulder blades and further south until they are back on your waist, and those hands are now definitely, completely stroking the bare skin on your back, shirt be damned. It is electrifying, and you can’t help but bite his lower lip, just a little, in response. 

“Ahem.”

You both immediately break apart as David, sheepishly, shines a flashlight on you, indicating that it’s time to leave. You thank him for his generosity and make your way onto the street, which is now noticeably emptier. Steve, in an effort to smooth things over, takes a few selfies with David on his way out. 

It is quiet as you stand together, with only the faint hum of the street lamp overhead to break the silence. Steve takes out the memo pad and the pen then opens the book to the first page. 

“Checking off ‘The Guggenheim,’‘Making out with a gorgeous woman…’”  
You shoot him a playful look. “That is not on your list.” 

“It wasn’t, but I just added it and checked it off. See?” He holds up the page for you to see, and lo and behold, it’s there. He grins, and something in you, right above your ribs, aches.

“I don't want this night to end,” you announce. Your raw honesty and openness startle you. But it is true. And it is now out there. 

“Who said it has to?” Steve tilts your head up to look at him, his fingers tucked under your chin. “If you want, I know someplace we can go.”

Whatever this is, it is palpable, it is real. You reach up and frame your hands around Steve’s face, pulling him in for a kiss before your mind can catch up with your body. The same urgency that surged through your earlier kiss is still there, and you find yourself playing with the collar of his shirt, fingers tracing, memorizing the shape and feel of his collarbone, wondering what it would taste like against your mouth. 

Steve pulls away briefly and rests his head against the top of yours. He looks at you, and gone are the eager puppy eyes and in its place is the intense stare of a man who is certain of what he wants. 

“Let’s go,” he whispers, and you follow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long time coming (no pun intended). Life and such gets in the way of writing, but c'est la vie. Enjoy!

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: NC-17. Consensual sexy time is definitely had.  
Supporting Characters: None (unless you count your burning loins)  
Time Period: Post-Avengers and Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier  
Length: Chapter 2 of ?

“So,” you pause, glancing out at the dark mass of water, “who did Captain America have to take out to land a pre-war apartment with a river view? A slew of zombie assassins? Robotic reptiles sent to destroy the planet? You can tell me. I can keep a secret.” 

You turn your back on the floor-to-ceiling windows and shoot him a flirty look. Steve laughs as the fridge closes behind him, and he walks towards you, two beers in hand. 

“Actually, Fury set this all up. He figured putting me in Brooklyn would ease the transition after I woke up,” Steve replies. “Cheers.” The clink of the bottles echoes through the spacious living room, and as you take a swig, you look up at Steve and find yourself staring a second too long at his mouth. 

“It’s a bit warm in here,” you state, taking a drink from the glass bottle. _Or I just want you so badly that every red blood cell in my body is gearing up for the moment I jump you._

__

“Well, you know, we senior citizens get cold easily,” Steve quietly retorts as an impish smile forms on his lips. “And there’s that whole being trapped in an ice coffin thing.” 

__

You laugh and lower your head in embarrassment. “I’m a jackass,” you admit sheepishly. 

__

“I think you are a lot of things, but a jackass isn’t one of them.”

__

You feel a flush spread across your face, knowing full well it isn’t the alcohol. You walk around the room and hope to distract yourself with the décor. You sip your beer and soak in the faded brick walls, exposed air ducts, and minimalist furniture. Amazingly, this space is a pretty accurate reflection of what you know so far about Steve—classic without an ounce of pretension. You feel Steve watching you as he settles onto the couch, and you are ever so grateful that you wore your fitted jeans this evening. 

__

On the mantle, a framed photograph catches your eye, and you set down your beer to pick it up. It is a picture of a run-down duplex, flanked by a dusty road and an abandoned, overgrown lot. If the picture was in color before, it’s now faded into a murky yellow, the color of dried mustard. 

__

“That’s this building, the one we’re standing in, taken at some point in the ‘30s,” Steve says before you have a chance to ask. You take a seat next to him, still holding the photo. 

__

“Did you take this? Is this where you…”

__

“No, no,” Steve interrupts, shaking his head. “But you’re not completely wrong. I lived down the block from this building.” 

__

You arch your eyebrows in astonishment. “This was Brooklyn Heights? Where they now charge $12 for avocado toast and a 6-figure income makes you distinctly lower-middle class?”

__

“Surprising, right? When I was growing up, this place was much different.” Steve, finishing his beer, sets the bottle on the coffee table and continues. “After the Depression, the neighborhood was a lot of overcrowded tenements, factories. It was, for all intents and purposes, a slum. But it was home,” Steve muses, a half smile, that could only be evoked out of nostalgia, softening his rugged features. 

__

“Well, you’ve come a long way, Cap.” You gesture around the tastefully decorated living area. “Do you like it? Being back in Brooklyn, I mean.”

__

Steve considers his answer, leaning his head against the couch cushion. “It’s home. So, I should feel comfortable. But the thing is, if anything, living here makes it more apparent that the world has changed drastically.” He sighs and glances over at you. “I missed a lot of it.” 

__

Steve’s last words linger in the air. You take in the slight shift in Steve’s demeanor, his gaze no longer on you but focused on the view of the meandering, dark river just beyond those glass panes. 

__

You move towards Steve, and his eyes dart up, startled, as he watches you settle onto his lap. “Then, tell me,” you say, playfully adjusting his shirt collar, smoothing the material between your fingers, “what can I do to catch you up?” 

__

Steve moves his hands so that they graze the exact spot where your hips and back meet. You look at him, the slightest grin playing at the corners of your mouth. Steve leans in close then tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

__

“Dance with me.” It would be an understatement to say that this was not what you expected. You look over Steve’s face to gauge the sincerity of this request. Realizing its earnestness, you nod your head “yes.” 

__

Wordlessly, you both get up from the couch, and Steve walks throughout the room, turning off the various lamps and switches until all that is left is hazy, dim light beginning to stream in from those enormous windows. 

__

“Dancing…was that on your list?”

__

“It’s been something I’ve been meaning to do for awhile,” he replies, stopping at his docking station. You watch him scroll through a seemingly endless collection of songs and artists until you see a look of recognition flash across his face. 

__

As Steve starts toward you, the room fills with the gradual swell of a saxophone and a woman’s voice. This voice is familiar. It is soulful and pained, and although it takes a beat, you recognize its sultry notes. 

__

Steve reaches for your hand, entwining his fingers through yours, then wraps his other arm around your waist. Your words catch in your throat, and the way his solid forearm spans the length of your back momentarily renders you speechless. 

__

“How do you know about Etta James?” you ask, recovering your voice. 

__

“That was Natasha’s doing.” 

__

As you settle into a rhythm, Steve taking the lead, you move your left hand over his shoulder, keenly aware of the musculature hidden away beneath his button-down. 

__

“And the remainder of your music?” 

__

“Agent Coulson.”

__

You both chuckle at this, and the laughter melts away until all that’s left is the sound of the music. It’s dizzying to consider all of the evening’s events that led you to this point, and you are finding it especially hard to focus on anything but those eyes that, in the light of dawn, are azure with flecks of navy. If someone gave you a million dollars to say your full name right now, you aren’t sure you’d be up to the task because goddamn, this man is beautiful. 

__

All too soon, the song fades to an end, but neither of you move. It’s silent aside from the faint chirp of birds outside and the occasional passing car, noises that indicate the break of morning. You both stand there, still, and without thinking, you reach up and begin to undo each button on his dress shirt. You are mildly surprised at the steadiness of your fingers, watching them work their way down. Once you are done, Steve untucks his shirt and tosses it onto the cool, hardwood floor. You rest your hands on his bare chest; it rises and falls with each slightly quickened breath. You look into those clear blue eyes, and you are determinedly not looking away this time. You know what’s coming, you can feel it in every inch of you, but it still takes you by surprise when Steve kisses you, slowly, fully, then at once altogether. Steve’s concrete, warm body presses into yours, his soft lips becoming a startling contrast. You revel in the feeling of his mouth as it toys with your bottom lip, even more so once you notice that Steve’s hands are under your shirt, framing each side of your ribcage. 

__

Steve pulls back, and before a flood of worries can drown your already-overstimulated brain, he grabs your hand, leading you through the apartment. Rooms blend into one another until you find yourself, standing at the foot of a bed. You can feel Steve watching you, his eyes fixated on you, as you slowly pull your blouse over your head. Reaching behind, you smile then unhook your bra, letting the straps fall down the curves of your shoulders until it comes to rest on the floor. You climb onto the bed, and Steve moves towards you with purpose, the intensity of his stare unyielding. For a moment, you drink in his flawless face and perfectly-made body then let out a gasp when you feel Steve’s mouth tracing your collarbone. It soon finds its way back to yours, a welcome distraction, as the weight of his body presses down on you. You run your hands down the length of his back, tracing the lines and valleys with your fingertips. 

__

Steve’s lips never leave yours, but somehow, he unbuckles his pants and slides them over the edge of the bed, and suddenly, life as it is right now will not get any better than this. Steve Rogers is naked, and you can feel him, hard, against your inner thigh. He sits up, and even though you want his mouth on top of yours, you bite your lower lip when you realize what is about to happen. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch Steve slowly, painstakingly, undo the button on your jeans. He glances up at you as he moves the zipper down, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and you can’t decide whether this teasing is too much or not enough but you know you do not want it to stop. You spread your legs ever-so-slightly as your jeans move down your hips, your legs, your ankles. For a moment, you relax and lean back, relishing in the coolness of the sheets against your skin. Steve moves your underwear off to the side, and with this one gesture, he can tell that you are ready. Your back arches sharply as Steve slips his fingers inside of you. Your hands grip the sheets, and your breath catches in your throat as you watch him, his fingers discovering you, teasing you in all the right spots. When he stops, you almost let out a whimper, and Steve grins, knowing full well what he is doing. His hands slide over your hip bones as he removes the last piece of clothing standing between you. 

__

Steve gets up then opens the drawer of the bedside table. You sit up and watch as he slips a condom on, and his body looks as if the gods themselves sculpted it. Steve is standing in front of you and, with one hand, begins to run his fingers through your hair, pulling it just enough. Your head tilts back, and you can see the outline of his square, defined jaw, his glazed-over eyes. He uses the other hand to touch himself, running it up and down his shaft, and it is just too much for you to handle. You nudge him onto the bed, and soon after Steve lies down, you straddle him. You tease him, not letting him completely inside you yet, and you watch his expression, his furrowed brow, his parted lips, his soft groans. You’re about to hit your breaking point when Steve’s hands reach up and grab you by the waist, pulling you fully on top of him. 

__

You place your hands on his chest as you start to slowly rock your hips back and forth. Your close your eyes and can feel his hands explore your body, moving over your stomach, your breasts. You lean forward a bit, and the angle hits you perfectly. Steve hears your breathing as it becomes shallower, quicker, faster and he moves his hips upwards to meet yours. It feels too good for you to keep going, you are coming, and you bury your face into Steve’s neck as he continues to thrust deeply into you; the feeling of endless waves crash over your body. Your heart is still racing, but you lift your head so that you are looking directly at Steve and you kiss him, full and hard. 

__

He brushes the damp hair out of your face, then lifts you up by your hips, and you feel him leave your body, just for a moment. Steve flips you over with ease so that you are now staring up at him, sweat starting to drip down his temples. Steve grabs you by your thighs and pulls you closer to him, handling you with total ease, surprise, and delight. He runs his hand along your inner thigh, his eyes drinking in the sight of your naked body, letting them wander over your soft skin, your curves, your ribcage, your neck until he is looking right at you. You give him a little smile as you feel Steve push himself slowly into you. He leans forward so his face is inches from yours and watches your expression change as he starts to move in and out of you, painstakingly, one inch at a time. You move your hands onto his waist in an effort to control the pace, but Steve resists, grinning at you mischievously as he instead, moves ones of your hands onto your lower abdomen, guiding it lower and lower. You bite down on your bottom lip, and knowing exactly what Steve wants you to do, you touch yourself, creating circular strokes with your fingers, and Christ, it feels so damn good. Steve’s pace starts to pick up, and you glance over at him, and his blue eyes are mesmerized by the sight of your fingertips; even in your hazy mind, you can tell that Captain Steve Rogers is turned on by watching you get off. 

__

You’re not ready to come quite yet, and you move your hand back up, letting it wander over the broadness of Steve’s back, feeling the muscles contract as if in sync with his lower body. A breath catches in your throat as you feel Steve thrust into you, this time, with a little more force so that he fills every inch of you. You wrap your legs around Steve, giving him a deeper angle, and he tucks his head into your shoulder. He needs to know. He needs to hear your voice, for you to tell him how much you want him. You smile to yourself, then whisper in his ear, “Don’t stop, that feels so fucking good.” Steve lifts his head to look at you, and you return his stare. His breathing starts to lose its steadiness, and even though you knew it was inevitable, you are nevertheless pleased when you feel yourself clench around Steve. Your mind is a fireworks display matched by the intense, pleasurable shivers coursing through you. Steve pushes himself into you one last time before he, too, finishes, and collapses onto your body. You kiss his shoulder and lick your lips, tasting the saltiness of his skin, basking in the feeling of the weight of this man resting on top of you. 

__

You think a few minutes pass, but you cannot be sure when Steve lifts himself up, resting on the palms of his hands, still hovering over you, and a longer strand of his hair falls across his flawless face. In this morning light, his hair is really more of a dark blonde against his fair, glistening skin. His lips brush against yours, slowly and contentedly. 

__

“That was fun,” you say quietly. Your voice is spent, satisfied, and a bit raspier than you expected as you break the silence. 

__

Steve nods, smiling. “Yeah, it was. When am I going to see you again?”

__

“Uhhhh, Steve? You’re still inside me.”

__

Steve laughs, dropping his head so from where you’re lying, you can only see his perfectly straight white teeth. He gets up, and your eyes follow him as he walks into the bathroom to clean himself up. You lift your arms above your head and stretch then finally hoist yourself off the bed. 

__

“You didn’t answer my question,” Steve calls out. 

__

“I’m free this evening and the next one,” you respond, spotting your bra on the floor, scooping it up.

__

“And the one after that?”

__

“Nope, I’m moving, remember?” 

__

You can’t see him, but you feel Steve sidle up behind you as you begin to get dressed. “You never said where to.” He moves your hair aside so it cascades over your shoulder and hooks the clasp on your bra. Steve grazes his lips across the back of your neck, and it is almost enough to make you consider staying. 

__

“D.C. actually.” You are surprised that your reply is more coherent that you’d anticipated. 

__

“What are you going to do there?” 

__

You turn around so you are facing him. You wrap your arms around his torso and glance down for a second, feeling a bit amused to see that he is still not dressed. “It’s classified,” you reply, grinning, a glint of playfulness in your eyes. 

__

Steve raises an eyebrow, interest clearly piqued. 

__

“I mean, not really. I’m going to work for the Department of Defense as an intelligence officer. And if I tell you anything else, I’ll probably have to kill you.” 

__

“Got it, I’ve been warned,” Steve whispers. He lets his hands roam downward, stopping on your lower back. 

__

You give him a kiss, letting your mouth linger on his then pull away, teasingly. “Movers are coming for my furniture in half an hour. I’ve gotta get dressed.” 

__

You squeeze past him, collect the remainder of your clothes, and stop in the threshold of the bathroom. “I’ll see you tonight?”

__

“I’ll be here.”

__

* * *

__

“Captain Rogers. This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

__

“Hi Fury. That makes the two of us.”

__

“So what can I do for you? The place in Brooklyn not working out?”

__

“No, it’s fine. I wanted to inquire about the offer you extended.”

__

“Yeah, we can talk about that. What would you like to know about SHIELD?”

__

Steve glances at the bathroom door, cradling the phone between his neck and ear. “Everything.”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a conclusion to this story, and it's 80% finished. If you enjoy Steve Rogers, if you (like me) also wonder what happens in the years between MCU movies, and if you just want Steve to have some happiness in his life, then keep checking back. I'll continue to update as chapters become available. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: PG-13. Some adult language, but mostly coupley fluff.  
Supporting Characters: None   
Time Period: Post-Avengers and Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier  
Length: Chapter 3 of ? 

You wave your hand back and forth, clearing the plume of smoke that’s billowing towards the ceiling. The persistent beep of the fire alarm continues for a minute, drilling into your skull, until Steve gently pushes you aside. 

“Allow me.” 

Steve reaches up, unscrews the alarm, then puts it on the entryway table with a soft clatter. He looks over at you and smirks. 

“Thank you. I was ready to grab your shield and put that asshole out its misery.” 

“You were the one who thought it would be a good idea to put 5 boxes worth of candles on a cake,” Steve replies mockingly. He places his arm around you as you walk back into the kitchen. 

“Well, 95 is a milestone birthday, and you are the hottest nonagenarian around. It deserves some celebration and pizazz,” you say, teasing right back. You grab two plates from the cabinet while Steve starts slicing the cake. 

“Yeah, and you could’ve burned my entire building down.” 

“You would’ve saved us all. I’m not concerned.” 

“What are you going to do if you have you date someone who isn’t a government-created super soldier?” Steve inquires, arching his eyebrows as he places a piece onto your plate. 

“I won’t. You’ve ruined me. I’m yours.” 

Your mouth curves up into a huge smile as you follow Steve into the living room, and he can’t help but shake his head in amusement. You settle onto the sofa next to him and lean your body against his large frame. You just so happen to meet his gaze as he looks down at you. 

“Thank you for this. I haven’t celebrated my birthday in a while.” 

Steve leans over and kisses you softly on the forehead, then digs into his slice, making sure to get an equal amount of frosting and cake on his fork. 

“Oh my god, cake now is so much better than before,” he exclaims after his first bite. “You made this?” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t hard. Sugar isn’t rationed anymore, so it’s pretty easy to come by.” The snarky tone rolls off of your tongue, and in retaliation, Steve takes a heaping forkful from your plate. 

“Hey!” you object, pretending to be irritated, but you can’t keep this front up for more than a few seconds because of how charmed you are by Steve’s giddiness. 

After you’re done, he gets up and walks your plates to the sink. You peek into the kitchen to make sure his back is turned before you take out his present. You placed the large box onto the coffee table and adjust the ribbon. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Steve sighs, standing in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. 

“I know, and I’m a poor listener,” you confess. “Open it. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” 

Steve takes his time undoing the ribbon and the wrapping paper. You think for a second about how you’d have that present open in 2 seconds flat if you had his kind of strength, but not Steve. It seems an afterthought to him, more of a career perk than anything else. It’s this humble attitude that makes everything feel almost normal when dating Steve Rogers. 

Steve lifts the lid of the box and peers inside. He still can’t quite make out what it is and reaches in to pull out vinyl record player, a look of pure joy dancing across his features. You are delighted by his reaction. 

“This is amazing. Where did you find this? It must’ve been hard to come by.” Steve sets it down on the table, examining each part carefully. 

“Well, not quite. Vinyl is in again, so you’re in luck, kind of like you.” You walk over to Steve, clutching one more gift behind your back. “Last one,” you say, handing him the present. Steve sighs and shoots you a look that’s a blend of gratitude and awe. 

“Etta James,” he murmurs as the wrapping paper falls to the floor. You smile to yourself, knowing that you knocked this birthday out of the park. You watch Steve place the record onto the spindle and set the needle in place, and before you can say a word, you feel Steve arms envelop your body. You do the same, letting your hands rest under his shoulder blades, and tilt your head up to look at him. 

“Why are you so good to me?” 

You shrug. “I told you, I’m yours.”


	4. Chapter 4

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: PG-13. Some adult language, but mostly coupley fluff.  
Supporting Characters: None   
Time Period: Post-Avengers and Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier  
Length: Chapter 4 of ? 

“Do you ever wish we could go on a normal date?” Steve asks, wiping his hands on his jeans.

You laugh. “Define normal.” You run your thumb over the flat, smooth rock in your hand and toss it out onto the water, watching it skip twice then sink. 

Your eyes soon fall on Steve as he takes a seat on the dock. You admire his perfectly angular profile then take in the surroundings. What’s left of the winter’s snow barely covers the distant mountain ridges, and the lake water is so clear you can easily watch the newly-hatched fish dart between the turquoise, burgundy, and evergreen rocks lining the bottom. Yet, this view of Steve, at ease in a pair of jeans and sweatshirt, competes with it all.  


“I don’t know, dinner at a restaurant perhaps?” he muses. “Hell, even walking around Georgetown together, and not having to come all the way out here to be out and about?”

“Hmm…sure, sometimes,” you answer, taking a seat between Steve’s legs, your feet dangling off the edge of the wooden structure. He wraps his arms around you, and he is comforting and warm. “But you know we can’t risk that. And hey, this place isn’t too shabby.” 

“I’m glad you like it,” he pauses, tilting his head to look at you, “because I think you’re the only person I want to share this with.” Steve smiles, and you can’t help but love how he smiles not just with his mouth but his entire face. It’s such a contrast to the endless stoic images the media plasters of him in their coverage, and it runs counter to who you know him to be. When Steve smiles, his eyes light up, the corners crease, and he exudes openness and earnestness. 

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me that we can’t do, you know, ‘normal things,’ I just…” Your voice trails off, and you bite your lower lip. You’ve wanted to say it months before; in fact, the first time you felt the urge to was the night you came home from work after a remarkably shitty day. You were on the phone with him throughout your entire Metro ride, and the moment you walked out of the station, you saw him standing outside, phone in hand, waiting for you. You almost said it then, and each subsequent time after that, the words nearly escaped, but you forced them back down. And it wasn’t that you hadn’t felt this way before or that you hadn’t said it to other people you’d dated, but saying it this time would make it real. This honeymoon of sorts where you could sneak off and hole up in each other apartments and tell yourself that this was just a fun romp without serious consequence, that would all disappear. You’d have to deal with all of the baggage that inevitably comes with both of your careers.

You turn around to face Steve, tucking your legs underneath you and giving you enough height to look him in the eyes. You take a breath. 

“We’re never going to be normal, but I need you to promise me one thing: you will do everything in your power to stay alive.”

“I promise,” Steve says quietly. 

“Because for some crazy reason, I’m in love with you,” you admit, your witty tone underplaying the weight of your words. 

“I know.” 

A Cheshire grin spreads across Steve’s face, and you can feel your jaw nearly hit the dock’s wooden boards. You give him a playful shove to the chest, and Steve doubles back dramatically. You lay on top of him, propping yourself up so you can clearly see his beautiful (albeit tickled) face. 

“You fucking asshole,” you declare. 

Steve glances up at you. “You can call me whatever you want,” he shrugs his shoulders, “But I’m still in love with you.” There’s an urge both to get the last word in and to bask in Steve’s sentiment, but before you can do that, he sits up, startling you. You adjust yourself so that you’re seated on his lap, and Steve runs his hand through your hair, letting it come to rest on your neck, just under your jaw. With his other hand, he pulls you in for a kiss. It is slow and sweet, and as you lean in, you place your hands on his sturdy shoulders. The kiss deepens with every shift of your lips, and you can’t help but think, _Fuck normal. This is perfect._


	5. Chapter 5

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: PG-13. Adult language.  
Supporting Characters: None  
Time Period: Post-Avengers and Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier  
Length: Chapter 5 of ? 

 

“No, you know what, this is on me. It’s my fault,” you place your hands on the counter, resignedly. “I thought, no, I convinced myself that one day I would be just as important to you as your job.” Your default setting has always been to cry when you are frustrated, and as tears start to well in the corners of your eyes, you struggle to keep them in. 

“Jesus Christ, you are important to me,” Steve sighs, exasperated. “But I have an obligation, and not just to SHIELD, but to my team…” 

“I get that. All I’m asking is for you to put a little more value on your own life.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You and Steve lock eyes as he walks around the counter so that he’s directly in front of you, his gaze unyielding. You stare right back. You know that you’re about to do something unimaginable, and what you want to say will toss you into dangerous waters. You’ve rehearsed this conversation millions of times in your head, and yet, it feels as if there’s a boulder lodged in the back of your throat. 

“Steve, you jump out of airplanes without a parachute! You run into shit storms like you’ve got nothing to lose.” The words are spilling out of you faster than water out of a broken dam, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. “You go above and beyond and put yourself in peril, time and time again, as if taking that serum makes you government property. You lost 65 years of your life—haven’t you given them enough?”

 _Shit._ It’s out there. You said it. Steve is silent. Taken aback, really. You watch as a shadow crosses his face, and his eyes frost over, making them look more of a muddled gray from where you’re standing. 

“You worry about your job, I’ll worry about mine,” he seethes. Not wanting to prolong this argument, Steve heads into the den. _Nope, not this time._

You follow him into there because now that everything you’ve wanted to say is out, there’s no turning back. “See, here’s the thing: I can’t worry about my job. Because even though it’s my responsibility to get my guys home alive, I catch myself thinking about your safety instead of theirs.”

Steve stops, and finally turns to face you, and you immediately know that the next thing he says is going to be pointed and sharp. “No one asked you to worry about me or criticize how I do my job. Trust me, there are hoards of people who look out for me every day. You work for the Department of Defense; you’re not employed by SHIELD.” 

“Steve, it doesn’t matter. If my mind is on you…” you shrug, letting your sentence fall away. Steve can sense your steely resolve cracking, and in response, his features begin to soften. He reaches for your hand, placing it in his, and you can sense your anger turning, changing. You muster up what courage is left in your reservoir. “My team counts on me, and the people who love them count on me, too. I can’t risk their lives because my mind is elsewhere, wondering what risk you’re going to take and if you’ll make it home. If you die, it’s not like Fury is going to show up at my door, or I can stay at my parents’ and grieve for however long. I’m going to be alone, and broken, and I can’t put myself in that position.” 

“Listen, for as long as I have on this earth, I will love you, every day of it,” Steve says, his voice filled with sincerity. He tucks his free hand under your chin in an effort to get you to look at him, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Nevertheless, he continues. 

“After Peggy, I thought I gave that all up, yet somehow I got lucky enough to meet you. But that doesn’t change how I’m going to approach my job and serve my country. I know who I am. I am someone who thinks on his feet and is going to do everything in my power to do the right thing. And sometimes, that means saying ‘Fuck the plan…’” 

“Then that makes you reckless, not heroic.” A few tears spill out of the corner of your eye, and you let go of Steve’s hand, wiping the tears away. “This is not a life for me, worrying about if you’ll come home.” 

“So that’s it? That’s all you have to say?” 

“I don’t see either of us changing our minds about this. Maybe I should go.” 

“You should.” The finality of his tone unearths a sharp pain inside you, and you are surprised that you are able to stand up straight if at all. 

You are in a haze as you walk from room to room gathering your belongings, throwing it into your overnight bag. There’s a good chance you’re forgetting a lot of your stuff, but the only thing you can focus on is the pain that’s throbbing throughout your chest and the cries that you are trying with all your might to stifle. 

Once you are finished, you take a last look at Steve as he sits in his chair. He’s expressionless, and the way the dull light is hitting him accentuates his pallor. You walk over to him and sit on the arm of the chair. 

“There’s this selfish part of me that always hoped I’d one day be reason enough for you to…I don’t know…at least take a moment’s pause before diving into some muddled, impulsive idea of yours.” You pause, checking Steve’s expression to see if any of this registers. You’re not sure, but you continue. “When you can do that, when you’re ready, come back to me, okay?” 

Your last words get caught in your throat mid-sob, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of Steve’s eyes, tears pooling at the corners. You hold his face in your hands, letting them linger for longer than they should so you can memorize the feel of his jawline, the touch of his skin on yours. You press your lips against his, and you can feel the wetness of his tears on your fingertips. You pull away and manage to lift yourself up because even if your body feels like it’s being weighed down by a slab of cement, you cannot physically stay here another second. 

You grab your bag and head towards the door. 

“What if I’m never ready?” Steve’s voice is quiet, raw, and uncertain, and you wince a little at how different it sounds. 

You turn around and manage the smallest of a smile. “You’ll know when you’re ready, and I’ll be there.” 

The door clicks behind you as it closes.


	6. Chapter 6

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: PG  
Supporting Characters: Sam Wilson   
Time Period: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Pre-Age of Ultron  
Length: Chapter 6 of ? 

The armed guards look at your badge then back at you, continuing this process a good three or four times until they launch into a barrage of questions. They ask your name, title, and department before scanning your fingerprints. You comply with their requests, standing straight and exuding more confidence than you currently feel. With a single nod, they give you the go-ahead and you walk into room 204 of Walter Reed Medical Center. 

Upon entering, you realize that you had not taken enough time to prepare yourself because the sight in front of you causes you to gasp audibly. The sound of your breath is quashed by the persistent whirrs of machines, heart monitors, and ventilators. You set the shield next to Steve’s bed then walk around to the side to get a closer look at him. 

A deep gash on his cheek has been stitched. His left temple is swollen and bruised a deep shade of royal blue and violet. There’s a couple of other lacerations right below. His skin is a pale yellow under the starkness of the sterile hospital walls. You feel more vulnerable and frightened standing here than when the reports first came to light. 

It was a scorcher of a day, and you were on-site, surveying the surrounding area. A wind blew through the trees, kicking up dust, when your team member walked up to you, her face unreadable. A chill crept up your spine as she showed you her phone, and you at once felt both numb and like you had to restrain every muscle in your legs from catching the next flight home to make sure Steve was okay, that he was alive. You scrolled through the news story slowly, horrified as every detail unraveled on the screen. _SHIELD, Hydra, helicarriers, Sergeant Barnes, Agent Romanoff, Steve._ It wasn’t more than a few minutes when your phone buzzed, and you felt relieved once you heard the sound of your superior on the other line, commanding you to leave your assignment and return home immediately. You sat on the plane, flipping between every channel, consuming any updates that were available. And even through all this, you never stopped to consider how mortal Steve was, not until seeing him here on the bed, unmoving and connected to multiple machines. 

You reach your hand out and lightly run your fingers over his cuts, his temple, his hair. You’d wanted to know how he’d been doing, but seeing him under these conditions was not what you had hoped for. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, who are you?” 

You turn around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and recognize his face from the news coverage. He has kind eyes and is a lot taller in person when not standing next to Steve. 

“Hi Lieutenant Wilson.” You extend your hand towards his and introduce yourself. He tentatively takes it, sizing you up. You immediately sense his protectiveness towards Steve and like him immensely. 

“And why are you here?” 

You gesture towards the shield, sitting at the foot of Steve’s bed. “Just returning what isn’t mine. I work for the Department of Defense, and one of our public servants found it at the bottom of the Potomac once it was identified as ‘missing.’” 

“You work for the DoD?” Sam inquires, his face lighting up. _This man is adorable._

You nod your head ‘yes,’ and you and Sam talk for a while about Veterans Affairs, the federal government, the military. You ask him how he’s been recovering, and he cracks a joke about outlasting Captain America. You chuckle. The longer you converse, the more comforted you feel, knowing that Sam is the one who’s been there for Steve in the wake of all of this, especially since you can’t. 

“It’s been good talking to you, Sam, but I’ve got to get back to work.” 

“Okay, he’s not up yet,” Sam states, pointing in Steve’s direction, “but the doctors say he should be soon. Do you want me to tell him you came by?” 

“No, that’s not necessary. Thanks.” You look at Steve one last time, hoping that in that instant, he’ll wake up and you’ll get to see those blue eyes once more. 

“He’s single, you know.” 

You genuinely laugh at this and feel so tickled that even in Steve’s current state, Sam is his wingman. 

“Yes, I know. I’ll see you, Sam.” You exchange business cards before you head for the door. “Let me know if you ever need anything. And take care of him, please.”


	7. Chapter 7

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: PG-13. Adult language.  
Supporting Characters: Tony Stark   
Time Period: Post-Age of Ultron and Pre-Captain America: Civil War  
Length: Chapter 7 of ? 

Your body registers the shock before your brain can compose a reply, and the agent disappears into one of the headquarters many corridors. Your mouth is dry and your palms dampen. You wipe your hands on the sides of your skirt, and for a second, you consider what it will mean for your job if you just up and walk out right now. You replay those words in your head: _“Tony Stark is no longer head of the Avengers; Captain Steve Rogers is though. I’ll make sure he knows you’re here.”_ And yet, even though you know what seeing Steve Rogers will do to your mending heart, the thought of being next to him again sends a tinge of excitement through you that you have not felt in a long time. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You don’t need to turn around to know that Steve Rogers is behind you, walking toward you, but you do anyway. He’s still a few yards away, but seeing the outline of his familiar body and hearing the timbre of that deep, earnest voice immediately elicits a smile out of you; Steve reciprocates. _Oh fuck me, this is going to be a difficult meeting._

“I’m glad seeing me is still a pleasure to you,” you reply. You feel awkward standing there, unsure whether to shake his hand or go in for a hug. After all, this man has been inside you. 

“Always. Nothing changes that.” His eyes meet yours, and there is a momentary pause where his words seem to hang in the air. Both of your eager smiles falter, just a touch, and you look away first. 

“Is there someplace we can talk?” you ask, noticing the swirl of people around you, hurrying down halls, carefully observing monitors.

“I have an office upstairs…”

“You’ve never struck me as a 9-5 office guy.”

Steve chuckles, “No, no, that’s not changed either. I don’t use it much. You want to take a walk instead?”

You hesitate for a moment, then flash a wry grin. “If you say so, boss.” 

“Awww, c’mon, don’t say it like that.” There it is, that trademark humility, one of the qualities that made you fall so hard for this man in the first place. 

It doesn’t take long for you to feel at ease as you and Steve walk through the facility. He asks about your life, and you fill him in on all the details that never quite make it into the occasional texts you’ve exchanged. He listens intently, and as you feel yourself getting more animated, he laughs at the exact right moments and makes your knees feel weak. It isn’t until you are wandering the outside grounds of the facility that Steve stops. For a second, you are self-conscious that you’ve been babbling and feel your face go hot.

“What? Oh god, I’m steamrolling this conversation. You’re the boss, you can tell me when to stop.” 

“No, that’s not…Don’t take this the wrong way,” Steve pauses and takes a step towards you. “But I feel like giving me shit is not the only reason you’re here.”

You allow a few trainees to jog pass, waiting until they are out of earshot. “Technically, I’m here to establish a professional rapport between the Department of Defense and the Avengers so that we may have a working relationship in the near future.” You lower your voice, and your friendly expression turns serious. “Off the record, consider this a courtesy call because I am your friend.”

Steve arches his eyebrows. He is intrigued, and, to no one’s surprise, a little suspicious. “Really? You have my attention then.”

“The tides are turning, Steve. After Sokovia…people aren’t happy, especially my people. ‘Establishing a rapport’ is just the first step, but the DoD expects the Avengers to fall in line with the rest of the federal government agencies.” 

You watch carefully as Steve clenches his jaw. Even after all this time, this man still has a shit poker face. “The Avengers are not a government agency. And furthermore, the Department of Defense has no jurisdiction in Sokovia, and even if they did, it would’ve taken too much time to have established that. Ultron put us on a time crunch, but if there’s ever a situation that’s unfolding at a slower pace, we will follow protocol, trust me.”

You nod your head, averting your eyes momentarily, then gaze back up at his large, looming frame. “So, it’s a good thing you’re the boss, and not the spokesperson.”

“That’s one of the reasons why we pay Maria a shit ton of money,” Steve retorts, not missing a beat. 

You can’t help but quietly laugh as Steve’s eyes brighten, the tension quickly easing. 

“I’m sorry, I hit a nerve. I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, you did.” He shoots you a look that’s a mix of hurt and disappointment, and again, you’re reminded of how he broke your heart in the first place. 

“All I’m saying is tread carefully. This is only the beginning.”

“You know me, I am always careful.”

“In that case, maybe some things have changed after all.”

“If they have, I doubt we can only be friends.” Steve smiles, his cheeks turning upward and eyes crinkling.

Before you can say anything, you hear Steve’s earpiece crackle. “Cap?”

Steve he excuses himself momentarily, and you watch him from behind, only half-listening to the conversation as it rallies back and forth. You are distracted by the how he looks in his new suit, which seems to only widen his already-broad shoulders and outline his muscular thighs. 

“Hey, there was a report left on the Quinjet.” Your moment of reverie breaks, and you feel your heart sink, not yet ready to say good-bye. “Do you want to come with me?” 

“Yes,” you reply, a little too quickly and enthusiastically. 

You walk in silence for a minute as you head towards the hangar. You glance to your left and try to watch him without being obvious. His long legs make it so that with every stride he takes, you have to take two just to keep up. You see him grinning and immediately, you know that Steve can feel your eyes on him. 

“What now?” he smirks, feigning annoyance.

You throw your hands up in mock resignation. “Nothing, I was just thinking about how well this suits you.” 

“The new uniform? I kind of miss the stealth suit, to be perfectly honest.”

“Well, yes, whenever I used to see you in it, it was like, a complete panty-dropper.”

Steve guffaws as you stroll up the ramp into the Quinjet. You relish catching him off guard and being the one responsible for that hearty laugh. 

“No, I mean, being here at the compound,” you clarify. “Being the head honcho in charge. Taking care of others.” 

“Thanks. That means a lot.” 

“You are always good at putting others before yourself,” you muse, settling into a passenger seat. _Wow, these are luxurious._ You lean back. “Actually, a bit too good and to your detriment if I’m being perfectly honest. That’s where Stark’s got you beat.” _Fuck me and my big mouth._

“Listen, I just…” Steve says, turning to face you, putting down the file. 

“I’m sorry, I’m a dick, I shouldn’t have said that last part…” You get up, move towards him, and place your hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Just listen. There was a moment in Sokovia. Things were...the outlook was bleak. Being miles and miles above the ground on a flying piece of land clears your head, gives you perspective.” Steve softly chuckles at his joke. “You were the only thing I could think about,” he admits. 

Steve gives a little shrug of his shoulders and his eyebrows tilt upwards, and it’s a helpless look you’ve seen before that usually results in you pulling him into a kiss, a deep one at that. Instead, you shake your head and let go his arm. 

“Steve…” you reply, looking away. 

“Hear me out. Barton has it all. And it’s completely off the books. Wife, kids, everyone is safe. If Barton can do it, then why not you and me?”

You sigh. He makes it seem so easy, so tempting. “Let’s get something straight: Clint Barton is not you. To him, this is a job, a good job, one he enjoys, I’m sure of it. But he’s always been able to walk away. Detach. Have a wife, a few kids. For you, this job is bigger than that. It’s who you think you are, and you are willing to put everything on the line for this job. And that is what is both so goddamn admirable and frustrating about you. Steve, I’m not going to be the one to ask you to stop doing from something you love. I can’t bear that kind of burden. Are you ready to walk away from all of this?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. 

Without hesitating, you wrap your arms around Steve’s neck. You run your fingers through the dark blonde hair at the nape of his neck, and like clockwork, Steve allows his hands to come to rest on your hips. Everything you’ve ever felt for this man, everything you’ve missed about him, floods your stupid body to its saturation point. 

You lean in a bit closer, and Steve rests his forehead lightly against yours, closing his eyes. 

“I meant what I said,” you whisper, looking up at him. “You will know when you’re ready, and today isn’t that day. Now go save the world from whatever new shit Tony has invented that will accidentally destroy it.”

Steve grins, revealing his perfectly straight, white teeth, then opens his eyes. “That’s not funny yet. But, I get what you’re saying. Who’s going to save the world if not for the Avengers and Captain America?” There is tinge of irreverence in his voice, and a half-smile hints at a weariness that you haven’t seen before. And strangely enough, this weariness makes you feel hopeful. 

“You listen to me,” you say, framing his face with your hands. “Being Cap is your job. You, my handsome man friend, are Steve Rogers. Don’t let them let you forget that.” 

“I am Steve Rogers,” he echoes softly. He looks at you, glancing between your eyes and the shape of your mouth. Your face is at the perfect distance where you can soak in his every feature that you know so well. The small bump on the bridge of his nose that makes him self-conscious. The beginnings of his 5 o’clock shadow that, come tomorrow morning, he will meticulously shave out of routine. The lips that you want so badly to kiss right now, that have explored every part of your body. Steve moves his head so that his mouth is not an inch from yours, and you can see his long, dark lashes. 

“We take meetings with the DoD in the Quinjet now?” 

Your body temperature spikes, and the heat seems to concentrate itself in your cheeks. You wish that voice came from Steve’s earpiece, but it is too clear, too distinct, and too recognizable for it to be otherwise. You expect Steve to let go of you instantly, but he doesn’t, and for a moment longer, you breathe in the scent of his after-shave and sweat. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to break away, and once you do, you look towards the doorframe. You are not the least bit surprised to see Tony Stark with a shit-eating grin plastered across his well-manicured face. 

“A very helpful and precocious agent found me and said an official from the DoD was looking for me, but somehow, I don’t think it was me who you needed.” 

“Stark, can you give me a minute?” Steve asks, his blue eyes still focused on you. 

“Nope.” Tony takes a few steps into the cabin, clearly amused. 

You and Steve exchange a look, one that speaks volumes, and you give him a kiss on his square cheek. “Thanks for meeting with me, Captain Rogers. I’ll see you around...” 

“When I’m ready,” he finishes. 

You excuse yourself from the jet and refuse to even glance at Tony before making your way back down the ramp.


	8. Chapter 8

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: PG-13. Adult language.  
Supporting Characters: Tony Stark   
Time Period: Post-Captain America: Civil War and Pre-Avengers: Infinity War  
Length: Chapter 8 of 9 

 

Under normal circumstances, you’d not only ask why you were being summoned, but you’d outright refuse to go with his pilot after failing to get any answers. However, these aren’t normal circumstances, and you can feel your anger start to simmer. You sit there and look out the window, surveying the expansive swatches of land below you, and in your head, you replay all that’s happened in the past week. You manage to swallow the anger back down, knowing that it won’t change the past and lean your head back. You close your eyes. 

The tires screech as they scrape across the runway, and you jolt awake. You realize you must’ve dozed off. You look around, yet the scenery is unfamiliar to you. You grip the arm rests, digging your nails in a little as you consider what options you have at your disposal if something is indeed amiss. 

“Mr. Stark requested that we go to his private air field, and from there, I take you to his residence,” the pilot says over the intercom, as if he can read your mind. You nod, realizing that there’s a camera in this cabin because really, you should’ve known; it’s Tony Stark after all. 

The ride to his residence is short, and after handing over your phone and undergoing multiple security checks, you are led into a library. You hang your bag off the back of a chair, and you walk around the room, reading the book titles off of worn spines, rather than sit. You are a little surprised at both the décor and the house; although it is large, it also manages to be quaint and welcoming, not qualities you associate with the man behind the Iron Man mask. _Must be Pepper’s doing._

The sound of the door opening wheels you around. “Tony Stark,” he introduces, walking assuredly towards you. “And I’d say it’s lovely to meet you, but we’ve met before.” He reaches out his hand, and you take it, tentatively. 

“I wouldn’t call that a meeting, but sure. I’m…”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Tony says before you can finish. He starts to list all your previous jobs, the names of your family members, your SAT scores, the name of the hospital that admitted you when you broke your arm, and the exact minute that you handed in your job resignation. “I’ve done my research.” 

With anyone else, you would’ve been surprised, many even a little impressed at his wealth of knowledge, but instead, you are nonplussed. “I’m sure you have. You just know everything, don’t you?” There is an edge to your voice, and you start to walk across the room. 

“I’d say that’s accurate. Are you in love with Steve Rogers?”

The directness of the question stops you dead in your tracks. You turn around to face him, staring down his inquisitive, piercing brown eyes. 

“Excuse me?”

“Are you in love with Steve Rogers?”

Your brow furrows, your body stiffens. “First of all, I don’t think I owe you any answers, and second of all, I’m not here to talk about who I’ve dated or my love life, so thank you, Mr. Stark, but I’m going to go.” You start to make your way towards the door, but Tony heads you off.

“Are you in love with Steve Rogers?”

“Listen,” you whisper, “I know you’re probably under a lot of pressure to locate Steve since the news outlets are calling him a ‘war criminal’ and a ‘danger to the Republic’ and you’ve got Secretary Ross breathing down your neck. But, if you think I know where Steve is, or that I’d even tell you, you’d be gravely mistaken.” 

“That’s not why you’re here. If I wanted to turn Rogers over to the authorities, I could.”

“Bullshit.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cellphone, casually holding it between his fingers. “Monday morning, a package came for me with this cellphone and a note from Rogers.” Tony senses the skepticism in your stare, sighs exasperatedly, and then also pulls out a note from his back jeans pocket. He sets the phone and the piece of paper on the glass-topped table. You look at both out of the corner of your eye. 

“Read it.”

Slowly, you pick up the note, and you can feel Tony watching you while you read. You can hear Steve’s voice in each carefully measured word, and a deep sadness that you’ve been choking down starts to rise. Before you have a moment to process what this all means, Tony clears his throat. 

“Turn it around. The note, turn it over.” 

You flip the piece of paper and read the one word written carefully on the back: _Ready._ Your pulse quickens, and you lower the note. Your eyes dart between Tony and the cellphone on the table.

“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? Why did you want me to come here?”

“I know you think I’m a selfish asshole. You’re not wrong. I’ve done a lot of damage over the past few days…”

“Damn straight.” 

Your interruption stops him, takes him aback for a second, and you wish you felt more guilt over your comment but you don’t. 

“Look, I tried to do what was right, but clearly I fucked up.” Tony pauses, and as he does, it becomes apparent to you that he is angry, not just at Steve, but at himself. “I am alone, and I can’t fix that. But, so is Rogers, and maybe I can help him. We’re a lot more alike than you think, so please, listen to me when I say that right now, he needs you, and he is in love with you.” 

Your ability to form words escapes you at the moment, and you simply stand there. You push your hair so it’s off your face then close your eyes. You need a second to think. Hell, you need a few decades to mull this over. 

Tony interrupts your train of thought. “Listen, I can’t just leave this phone and this note laying around. I’m going to leave this room and come back in 10 minutes to get them. Whatever you do in that time is up to you.”

You open your eyes and watch Tony as he walks away from you. 

“Tony?” He looks up at the sound of his name, his eyes focused on yours. 

“Thanks.” 

He nods in response and closes the door behind him. You pull a chair out from the table and grab the phone, holding it in your hands. You flip it open, then closed. It would only take one phone call. You read the single word on the paper, and there is no way to mistake that handwriting for anyone else’s but Steve’s. 

You smile to yourself as you remember the lazy Sunday mornings comprised of coffee and couch sex. How on every late-night run along the canal you’d challenge Steve to race you, even though you knew he’d never let you win. Teasing him mercilessly when he got his own exhibit at the American History Museum. Watching him take off his watch at the end of the day. _7 minutes._

You shake your head, hoping it will knock what sense you have left loose. But sometimes, love isn’t enough; your relationship with Steve was clearly an indicator of that. Once things became serious, it got too complicated. You both couldn’t make it work, and who’s to say that won’t happen again. Everyone gets one heartbreak that devastates them, obliterates them into nothing but shards, dregs, and dust, and Steve was yours. In your gut, you know that you cannot survive that again. You look at your watch. _4 minutes._

“Fuck,” you mutter. You stand up and push your chair back in. You absorb the room, the décor, the walls, when your eye catches a series of framed paintings carefully mounted opposite you. You walk over to it and admire the mix of bright colors on each canvass. You still lack any sensibility for analyzing art, but you’ve found yourself taking more time to soak it in when it finds you because doing so almost transports you back to that first night. His navy blue button down, his fingers entwined with yours, his hand on your thigh on the ride back to his apartment, and that feeling in your gut that this was the start of something good, something real. _1 minute._

You look back at note and the phone on the table, then your eyes glide over to your purse, still hanging off the chair. Your footsteps are quick as you head across the room, and you hear the door open once again as you place the purse straps over your shoulder. 

“Did you do it? Just morbidly curious. Promise.” Tony holds up his hands in a show of innocence. 

You begin to walk out into the main hall, ignoring his comment, but before you do, you stop and point towards the cellphone, still sitting on the table. “That isn’t mine. If you want to know, by all means, check the phone.”

You watch Tony as he walks back into the room and opens the phone. His fingers are steady as they click through the buttons. He looks at you, straight on, his face unreadable. 

“I expected more from you.”

You shake your head. “You may know about me, but you don’t know me, Mr. Stark. Thank you for your hospitality. This really is a beautiful house. I can see myself home.”

You collect your phone from security then walk down the long driveway of the estate until you are off the property and onto a main road. You reach into your purse and dig through your wallet, tossing aside old receipts and scraps of paper until you find what you were looking for. You unlock your phone and start dialing the number on the business card, praying that this will work.

You listen, and after several rings, no one picks up. There is no voicemail greeting, but you hear a distinct beep. 

“Lieutenant Wilson? I’m going to hope beyond hope that this is still your number and you check your voicemail, but I need you to relay a message to Captain Rogers for me….”


	9. Chapter 9

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: PG.   
Supporting Characters: Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff   
Time Period: Post-Captain America: Civil War and Pre-Avengers: Infinity War  
Length: Chapter 9 of 9

You can feel your hair bouncing with each step you take, and you are surprised that the sound of your footsteps hitting the pavement is the only sound audible on this street, even at this hour. Your heart is beating through your chest, and you swallow in an effort to alleviate the dryness in your mouth; what you are doing is not only a shot in the dark, but it is beyond crazy. The unmistakable sight of the museum comes into focus, and upon seeing this, you look at your watch. You’ve got a few minutes to spare. 

You make it to the darkened entrance, and your eyes skim over the sign that lists the hours. It is definitely closed. You take a breath for luck and push through the door, and to your surprise, it opens. 

You walk into the Guggenheim, and immediately look to your left into the security office. A shadow creeps across the desk. Someone is in there, and you curse yourself for not bringing a weapon. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me.” Sam Wilson walks towards you, disarmingly, and you sigh in relief. 

“How are you doing, Sam?” you ask, giving him a quick hug. 

“Pretty good, you know, being on the lamb is way better than being in a floating prison.”

You laugh. “Ever the optimist.”

“He’s waiting for you by some sculpture…” Sam nods his head in the other direction. 

“I know exactly where he is. Thanks, Sam.”

You head up the ramp that leads to the exhibits, and the excitement is palpable. You feel it in your fingertips, coursing through the rest of you as you pass the Rembrandts, Monets, and Picassos. The feeling comes to a head when you see him standing there, a few yards away, hands tucked into his pockets and waiting ever so patiently. You take a few steps closer, and notice that his hair is noticeably longer than you last remember, a shade darker perhaps, with a full beard to match. Steve smiles at you, and it is a smile that could illuminate every goddamn floor of this building. You walk faster, hurrying to narrow the distance between you and him, until you are standing in front of Steve, only a matter of inches separating you from his tall, thick body. 

“Hey Cap,” you say, quietly, looking up at him, your eyes meeting his. 

“Not Cap anymore. More like a…nomadic, homeless, wanted criminal who just so happens to go by the name Steve Rogers,” he responds lightheartedly, flicking his eyebrows up. 

“Exactly who I was hoping for,” you reply, flashing him a smile. 

The words barely leave your lips when you feel Steve’s strong arms pull you in for a kiss, and time is both standing still and moving at light speed. His mouth is on yours, and you can hear his slightly labored breath between each kiss. The stubble on his cheek brushes against your lower lip, and you are smiling as you place your hands on his cheekbones then down and over the sides of his neck. You tilt your head and explore his mouth with your tongue, and it is all so familiar, and yet leaves you hungry and wanting more, much more. Steve runs his hands through your hair, over your body, until they pull you in closer to him, the top of his thighs pressing into your hips. Breathlessly, wordlessly, Steve stops for a moment and leans his forehead against yours. You stare into his flawless blue eyes, letting your hands rest on his chest. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Steve looks down, and a shade of pink creeps across the tops of his cheeks. “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I was lonely. It was just a kiss, and Sharon is Peggy’s niece. It didn’t mean anything…” 

“I was talking about that,” you clarify, gesturing towards his beard. “We were broken up; I don’t care who you kissed as long as she’s not going to join us.” 

Steve looks down, slightly embarrassed. “You hate it.” 

“No, actually, I love it,” you reply. You reach your hand up and run it across his scruff. “It’s like I’m cheating on you with you.” 

Steve chuckles at this, and you tuck a strand of his long hair behind his ear. The sound of his voice, his laugh feels like coming home after being away a long time. 

“Not to break up this reunion, but we’ve got to get a move on.” You both look up when you hear this low voice and see a beautiful blonde woman, dressed in a sleek black outfit, peer over the ledge of the railing above you. You immediately know who this is, and you are beyond thrilled to finally meet. 

“Natasha,” you say, giving a slight wave.

“Hi. I’ve heard a lot about you, and I’m sure we will get further acquainted later. But, time is kinda of the essence here.” 

Steve looks at you. “Ready?” 

You place your hand, and everything you’ve got, in his. “Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is tentatively the end. I haven't decided whether I should start something new or continue on with this fic (by including an epilogue or maybe a Post-IW chapter). Either way, thanks for reading, and keep checking back for new content. :)


	10. Epilogue: Part 1

Pairing: Reader/Steve Rogers  
Rated: R. Adult situations & some sexual content.  
Supporting Characters: None   
Time Period: Post-Captain America: Civil War and Pre-Avengers: Infinity War  
Length: Epilogue Part 1 of 2 

 

Steve drapes his arm over you, and in your haze, you feel his fingers lazily outline each one of your ribs. You continue to lay on your side, unmoving, and bask in the feeling of Steve’s warm body cradling yours. You can feel him pressing against your backside, and his excitement is substantial and cannot be ignored. 

“Rogers,” you murmur, your voice groggy with sleep. 

“Hmmm…” Steve answers. He kisses the back of your neck lightly.

“We’ve had sex, like, 8 times in the past 12 hours.”

“Which I’d say is pretty damn impressive considering I’m nearly 100 years old.” 

You laugh and turn over onto your back to get a good look at Steve, finally opening your eyes. His smile spans the width of his rugged, unshaven face while pieces of hair fall over his forehead. The faint morning light streaming in from the hotel window casts a glow over his shoulders, across his muscular chest, and down his sinewy arms. Even in the midst of your exhaustion, you know how lucky you are to wake up next to this beautiful man. 

“Yes, good job, you don’t need Viagra,” you tease. 

Steve’s eyes widen, and in a move of quick retaliation, he covers your body with his, holding you down by your wrists. You giggle and yelp as he kisses your collarbone and clavicle, his beard tickling your soft skin. After a few moments, he ceases, and with one hand, caresses your cheek. You look into the recesses of his kind, blue eyes, and the world seems to fall away. 

“You can’t still be tired.”

“Ha, you underestimate me,” you deadpan. 

“What can I do,” he moves his hand down so that it grazes your breast, “to help you wake up?”

You close your eyes. “Coffee. Cream and sugar, and it….”

“Should resemble coffee ice cream more than coffee,” interrupts Steve. As he sits up, he extends a hand towards you and effortlessly pulls you upright. You lean against the headboard contentedly. 

“Why do I find it annoying that you know me so well?”

“I think…” Steve leans in and kisses you, “the word you’re looking for is ‘endearing.’” 

You smile at him as Steve gets ready to leave. You will never admit it, but watching him put clothes on is almost as fun as helping him take them off. You study Steve while he pulls up his pair of jeans, and even after all this time, seeing how his arms fill out a cotton t-shirt is far from tiresome. He grabs his pair of aviators and wallet from the dresser before tucking his hair beneath a baseball cap. Although you know it is Steve standing before you, it’s actually uncanny how unrecognizable he looks with a few minor changes. 

He reaches for the door, then turns back to look at you and grins. “Be good.”

“Tall order,” you reply as the door latches behind him.  


You lift your arms up and over your head, taking in a deep breath, as you stretch out your tight limbs. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, hair tousled and faint traces of eyeliner still present, and decide to shower. 

You make your way over to the bathroom and turn on the water. You let it run for a minute, washing your face over the basin, until, out of the corner of your eye, you see the steam start to rise, fogging up the glass shower doors. You hop in, and the hot water peppers you, massaging your body. Your sigh, melting under the relentless water, letting it drain away your exhaustion. You soap up and wash your hair, and although you’ve been finished for a while now, you lounge under the scalding streams for a few more minutes. After the past 24 hours of utter upheaval, you need a moment of normalcy. 

Turning off the water, you grab a towel from the rack and dry yourself off. You head back to the bedroom and dig through the drawers for a set of spare clothes. You spot one of Steve sweatshirts, and you smile to yourself. You zip up the faded, navy, oversized hoodie, and the material feels buttery against your fresh, clean skin. 

You head back to the living area when you hear the key in the lock. You turn around as Steve walks in the door, one hand holding your coffee and the other reaching for his aviators. He sets them and your coffee on the table, and the weight of his stare is on you, moving from your heart-shaped lips down to the hem of the sweatshirt, barely skimming the top of your exposed thighs. 

“That’s mine,” he says, his voice low, gesturing towards the hoodie. He takes a step closer to you, and you’ve seen that look before, the one where his stoic countenance is undercut by the glimmer in his eye. Your heart picks up a notch in anticipation of what’s to come, or, for that matter, who’s to come. 

“But it looks so good on me,” you reply. You tuck your hands into the pockets and at this, Steve takes another purposeful step towards you, then one more, until he’s close enough that you can see the stubble along his neck and feel the heat radiating from his body onto yours.

“So do I,” he counters. 

Steve flashes you a smile and reaches for the zipper, slowly edging it down as the sweatshirt begins to unfurl, revealing more and more of your bare skin underneath. His gaze never breaks yours, not even for a second, and Steve’s hands move across your stomach, settling into the curves of your waist. You expect to feel his mouth on yours but are startled when his lips make their way down your body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. Steve kneads his hands into your hips and takes one of your breasts into his mouth, running his tongue over your nipple, and the conflicting sensation takes you by surprise, causing you to gasp. 

“Wait, wait,” you utter. 

Steve stands upright, straightening himself out, and looks you in the eye, concern etched across his face. 

“What about my coffee?”

He drops his head, barely containing a laugh, then leans in close enough for you to feel his beard brush against your cheek. “When I’m done with you, you’re going to need that coffee,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: Part 2 is in the works! :)


End file.
